


Before all roads led to Rome

by salytierra



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: (sorta) - Freeform, Gen, Hetalia Ancients, Hetalia OC, Historical Hetalia, I mean they are ancients... so it's kinda obvious, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Kid Fic, written for the APH a brief history of time event
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-27 00:52:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15013136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salytierra/pseuds/salytierra
Summary: There used to be a time when beings like them were considered Gods.They were born out of thin air, lived for centuries and died with all their questions unanswered, waiting on the shores for a visit from one of their kind, someone to validate their own existence and give them a name.That is, unless they had a Mother.





	Before all roads led to Rome

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written for the [aphabriefhistoryoftime](https://aphabriefhistoryoftime.tumblr.com/) event on Tumblr. It has been quite a challenge, since so much is still unknown about those times and there is a lot of speculation, so I had to choose from different versions at times (sourced materials cited at the end), but it also has been really fun to write. 
> 
> Now, some historical notes as follows: 
> 
> **A note about the names:**
> 
> The way that the Phoenicians and the Greeks called the lands they encountered were different. We picked up mostly the latter forms, with some exceptions. Anyway, the names in this story go this way:
> 
>   * **Phoenicia** (greek) / **Kenaani** (aprox. how they called themselves)= Phoenicia.  
> 
>   * **Hellas** = Ancient Greece.   
> 
>   * **Iberia** (Greek) / **I-span-ya** (Phoenician, latter to be picked up by the Romans and turned into Hispania... _holy shit tho!_ ). You can see her territory in the Map, in orange. They had a complex social structure and used a derivative of Phoenician writing. Which is why we know how their words sounded, more or less... but not what they meant. 
>   * I marked out the area withing which  **Tartessos**  is thought to have been. But the thing is that _Nobody knows where exactly it was._ It was considered a myth for a long time and even was rumored to have been Atlantis, but finally was confirmed to have existed. We just don’t know yet where exactly, only that it was very rich and advanced and that its rise and collapse was linked to the Phoenicians.  
> 
>   * **“That Celt”** Celt for me is a “family name”, like a surname. Meaning that they were different representations that were born after a bunch of nomadic Celts was separated from their group by something difficult to overcome and go back (Like the sea or, in this case, the Pyrenees). So the different Celtic tribes settled and interacted constantly between each other but not so much with the rest of the Celts, differentiating themselves a bit as a group. So in this case, the Celt that lived in the green part (map) of the Iberian peninsula was that one dude that was one of the brothers of other Celts, that was reclusive and had a complicated relationship with I-span-ya, whom he forced to remain on the south-eastern shore ever since she was little. But they found a common ground in time. 
>   * **The Lusitani** were sorta-pre-celts (so related to the proto-iberians), sorta under the celtic influence... sorta a bit of everything. They flourished as a culture up from the VIth centruy B.C. establishing strong commercial routes with the Iberians and all through the peninsula. Nowadays the Portuguese study on and insist a lot on their Lusitani heritage, so I gave it to them xDD 
>   * **Celtiberia** (purple on the map) was an area of a _synergetic_ union between iberians and celts. Meaning, that their joined cultures made a new one that was more than just a sum of both. There is no consensus on the dates, but they arose to play an important role in the Punic wars and the Roman invasion, teaming up with the Lusitani and some other tribes.
> 


**Age 550 B.C** **  
** **Beyond the columns of Heracles.**

 

She awaits patiently on the docks as the arriving ships drop their anchors. The ado is almost deafening. People shouting, running from one side to another, everyone wanting to meet and welcome the newcomers. Most of them haven’t seen these ships in a long time, some, only ever heard stories. This is a joyous, splendorous occasion.

So she stands back, leaning on the side of her horse and brushing absentmindedly through its mane with her fingers. The man by her side is equally calm, even though his eyes shine brightly, but the little boy between them is visibly excited and marvelled by the sight of all the wonders that the merchants are carrying on their shoulders. They will leave red and purple fabric, wine, perfume and exquisite jewellery. They will teach new healing balms and draw navigation maps. Then take their copper, gold and silver in exchange, their iron, clear jewels, salted fish and tamed horses… She becomes so absorbed in her thoughts that it’s only when a well-known voice calls for her name that she looks to her side.

“I-span-ya!”

“Phoenicia.” She smiles back, executing a small bow. It’s not a sign of submission but of deep respect, a demonstration of the almost divine status that the seafarers hold among her people. When she actually looks at him, however, her smile falters.

He looks old and frail, eyes dull and heavy with age and exhaustion. Still dressed into ornamental clothes but leaning on a beautifully carved cane. Not the robust man she once knew and met so many times on this same shore. But of course, she already knew that this was happening.

“You’ve been spending too much time with Hellas.” He shakes his head with an exasperated smile. It’s Kenaani, my dear, _Kenaani._

“Father.” Tartessos bows as well, ignoring their exchange. He is not looking well either. The old man comes forward to hug him, kissing his forehead. It’s a solemn moment and she doesn’t dare to interrupt it, keeping her silence and her head low, holding the little child wrigging in her hand from bothering them.

Phoenicia focuses on her again, coming forward and offering his arm, but doesn’t get offended when she hesitates to take it, raising an eyebrow instead.

“Walk with me, my dear, we need to talk about something important.”

She nods at Tartessos, who takes the boy that is tugging at his furs and walks them away, pointing at the large argile vases that the merchants are unloading, and inviting him to come closer and see.

I-span-ya and Phoenicia look after them until they are far enough.

“He’s one of yours?” Phoenicia asks.

“I’m not actually sure. We are related, I just don’t know how. In any case, he is very special. He comes from the west shore and is naturally curious and tenacious, wants to learn how to trade. Smarter than most of his friends and cousins from the lands that Celt took. He has been coming to see me and Tartessos often, and really wanted to meet you.”

“Does he have a name yet.”

“No, not yet. But if he really becomes one of my own in time, I’ll give him one. Or someone else will.”

Phoenicia glances at her sideways, and that time, when he offers her his elbow, she takes it. Because she realises he needs the extra support. He is still taller than her, though. They start walking away from the harbor.

“Since when are you so keen on mentoring Celt children?”

“I don’t know” She shrugs. “I feel like he is different. Our connection is not strong enough yet, but I have the impression that such drive and bravery may make him outlive me yet. It would be nice, you know? To have one of my children, by birth or blood poured in through time, survive when I am gone.

He looks at her and the heaviness around him becomes almost palpable. “Such gloomy thoughts for someone so young.”

“I find it comforting.”

“Maybe now. But beware of what you wish for, my dear.”

They get close to an old olive tree, which shadows look appealing on this hot day, so she helps her companion sit under it without breaking any bone. He huffs and leans his back against the bark, inspiring deeply. She flops down by his side with her legs crossed.

“Is that why you came now, after so much time? To tell me I’ll need to bury more of my family soon?”

“Did you notice?”

“Of course. Tartessos lost weight since the last time I saw him, I see the lines on his face and the tremble of his fingers. He depends on you so much… that means he doesn’t have much left, because honestly? You look like shit, old man.”

“Careful, girl.” But there’s no real anger in his voice. “Don’t forget who made you who you are. I took you a little savage and gave you civilization.”

“Am I part of your legacy then, according to that logic?”

“No, not you. But I would have liked for at least Tartessos to leave a visible mark of his life and his connection to me.”

She sighs. Looking like a young woman, barely of age, she feels as old as Phoenicia in moments like these. Whenever she digs into her memory, she remembers between the haze the old days of meeting him. Sometimes it feels like her first memory ever.

“And what will be of me, once you are gone?”

“What do you mean?” He turns his head to look at her with a frown. She bits on her lower lip, instinctively drawing her shoulders in.

“Sometimes… sometimes I feel like I only exist through your eyes. The mortals call us Gods, but what are we really? is there any reason for me to be here? To grow up so slowly while those lesser than me, that I feel blood of my blood, get old and wither? When I look back, I remember you more clearly than anyone else. And then Hellas. You gave me my name, she gave me another. She calls me Iberia and it feels right. I like it. She is my friend as well, but neither of you need me the way I need you. What will be of me once you are gone? What if… what if when you can’t look at me anymore I will become invisible?”

“Oh Dear…” His eyes soften when he reaches out to put his arms around her shoulders, smiling into her tangled hair. “Who knows, how or why we are born and why we are here. Contrary to what I let you think, I don’t have all the answers out there.”

She lets out a wet chuckle, pulling away from him and rubbing at her shining eyes. He places a heavy hand on her head.

“We’ve been watching you rise and mature, Hellas and I. But I feel like you are yet to grow into your own person. And not being able to see it with my own eyes, is one of my many regrets. But do not fret, you exist because somewhere from above, or maybe from the distant future, someone wants you, needs you to. It’s not your demise what shall come with my own.”

She sighs, looking down at her own hands.

“I wish there was a way to save him. If there was anyone I expected to live forever, it was Tartessos. He used to be so strong, so smart and always ahead of everyone else, of all of us. I call him my child, but I feel like he’s so much older than me.”

“You want him to be stronger than he is because in your own way you are proud, or because you think that if he cannot make it, he will drag you after him, but…”

“You knew?” She studies his profile, feeling, more than seeing, the hesitation in his features.

“We are their nuclei, the trunk from which all of them, our branches, are born. With time they go away or change. And we find each other in the similarities between them, in what makes them one, whether they recognize it or not. All those who went away and all who are yet to be born. Until one day you look in the eyes of your new child and your breathing aches. Because you know that in the worst of cases they will replace you, kill you or watch you die as they become stronger. Or in the best, whatever might end you, will never get them. And unless that something comes first, as time passes, you’ll become afraid of them.”

She takes his hand, squeezing tightly. The echoes of the people and animals around them drowning away. It’s only her and her old friend, her teacher, baring his soul in one last lesson. Maybe to shake that weight off his shoulders, or maybe to warn her of a threat more corporeal than an existential crisis. She doesn’t say that, in part, she understands. She felt a fraction of that realization when she first met the boy from the west shore. It was also the moment she had to accept Tartessos’ fate. Because no matter how much she tried to deny herself the truth - there was just no comparison between what awaited for the two of them.

She looks back at Phoenicia when a cough attack shakes hi entire body. He smiles at her once he gets his breathing back, with a soft but crooked grin.

“Since this is probably the last time I will come to see you, my dear, I want to you promise me to be very careful. The next time a fleet approaches your shores, it might not be so friendly.”

“You can say Carthage, you know? I’m not stupid and Hellas told me all about her.”

“Yes… Carthage. When I look at her… I told you the time would come when you also will be afraid. I am afraid of her and I can’t do anything about it. She’s so ruthless, so hungry for power and glory…. and yet, I’m also proud. Funny, isn’t it?”

“Not at all.” She mumbles and he chuckles, resting the back of his head on the bark of the tree, studying the light that flickers through the leaves. She shifts by his side until she can lean on his bony shoulder, the feeble breeze caressing her bangs and tickling her cheeks.

“I will watch out for Carthage.”

“Good.”

“And I will miss you. I don’t have many friends.”

“You have Hellas. And some birdie told me you’ve been getting along better with that one Celt lately.”

“He doesn’t come out much and never stays for long, but he seems less insufferable now than before.”

“Good. You’ll need support when Carthage sets her eye on you. Don’t turn down anyone’s help, but never trust them either.”

“How am I supposed to let them help me if I don’t trust them?”

“Oh my dear I-span-ya... You are strong and brave, but you’ve never seen a real war. That makes me worry about you, and everyone under your wing. Because war, it always comes at the end, and when it's waged on your lands, it’s better to say goodbye to your loved ones.”

She shivers, the chilling sting of premonition seeping into her bones despite the heat of the day.

“Why do you have to be so grim, old man?”

_________________________

 **Age ˜210 B.C** **  
** **Laguna Negra de Urbión  (Black Lagoon, in the Current province of Soria)**

“Mom, mom! Hurry up! You’ll see.”

“Wait, dear, where are you going?” She catches up to him, panting and looking around. The lake lays frozen and dark, beyond the snow-covered rocks and bare remains of bushes. As if the entire world around it isn’t just sliding off its axis, as if the turmoil of warring outsiders on her shores thinks it’s useless to reach up here, where the air is so crisp it cuts her insides when she breathes it in.  

It is not unusual for Lusitania to become excited about new trade routes and paths, even though the loss of Tartessos hit him hard in its time and, lately, he has had to become very careful of whom he talks with and what he says.  But she just can’t see what could have caught his attention in this lonely place, so out of the way of the pillars of smoke rising from the dense network of villages around the base of the mountain range.

The answer, apparently, is hiding in a small cave consisting just of a hole in between a conglomerate of rocks, covered by a thick layer of frozen moss.

Lusi is shushing and whispering words of encouragement, crouching down at the mouth of it, and he reaches inside to tug on a ratty sleeve. She stands a few steps away, watching him curiously. After a few minutes, finally, he manages to usher from inside a little boy, barely a toddler yet, that immediately hides behind his back, peeking curiously at Iberia’s feet from behind his new cover.

The head of a she-wolf emerges from the cave as well, sniffing the air and adopting a defensive stance, glaring at the woman with distrust. Carefully, as to not spuck the child or the animal, Iberia takes a couple steps forward, lowering herself on one knee and offering her hand with an affable smile.

Encouraged by the elder boy, gently pushing him forward, the kid approaches her with a clumsy wobble to his steps, hesitantly reaching with his tiny hand for hers.

Then he looks up, straight into her eyes, and in a second she feels her blood freeze; the words of a long gone friend echoing on repeat like bee buzz in her head.

She can see it, clearly as daylight, how this child is not just another mere tribe, meant to live its lifetime and disappear. The strength behind those dark eyelashes is unrivaled to anything she’s ever saw, so intense it’s terrifying. Whatever force rules their existence must be giving  her an ultimatum; because in the eyes of this child she sees a great change coming, a change of the very nature of the world order, a timeline into the future that stretches over decades, centuries, and well over a millennia; wavering, turning, almost breaking but always adapting and coming out stronger, carrying on in a way that she never will be able to.

Her head starts spinning, vision turning dark.

“MOM!” She can’t help it when she collapses to the ground, until Lusitania starts shaking her collar, visibly alarmed.

She breathes in and takes a moment to gather her thoughts, blinking at the steel gray sky. Then shakes her aching head and rises on her elbows, sitting up and using her son for support. She turns to smile at him reassuringly, petting his shoulder, and he looks relieved.

The little child has fallen on his butt as well. Now he is hugging his own knees, shivering with tears on his face, but being surrounded protectively by the she wolf, who’s shielding him from the wind and growling at Iberia, showing off her fangs with her ears pointed forward. Lusitania sighs and steps forward, extending his hand and waiting for her to sniff him out and calm down a bit.

She shifts around, letting the children curl up together, laying down in a protective semi-circle around them and still eyeing Iberia with suspicion. That she-wolf might not stand a chance before Rome or Carthage, but she sure as hell will try. Iberia smiles, keeping her distance for now, watching Lusitania caress the little boy’s head and and kiss his temple. He suddenly fell into full big brother mood out of sheer instinct and bamn if it’s not the cutest thing Iberia has ever seen.

She takes a step away, alerting the wolf, that raises her head and watches the woman walk around, collecting dry twigs to start a bonfire. She will have to inform Celt of this so he can take this child under his wing as well. He has to. There’s as much of him as there is of her in that boy, she can feel it.

They are both aware that something big is coming. Their relationship with Carthage is complicated, and far from friendly, although it could be worse. It _is_ bound to become worse, unless they do something about her thirst. Rome’s growing support is more of an imposition than an option. He is urging them, and specially her, to accept the “help” he is offering. And maybe, maybe this child’s appearance (just now, why precisely now?) is a sign that they shouldn’t. But how much can she aspire to trick destiny? Iberia knows she has already lived her fullest, and even the face of Phoenicia is starting to become foggy in her memory, even if his voice rings clear in her dreams _“You’ve never seen a real war, I-span-ya.”_

She is tired, yet to live through the most tumultuous period of her life but already tired and feeling old. She’s been putting all her effort into keeping Carthage away from Lusitania, into protecting him at all costs, with Celt’s cooperation. It has been proven stronger of a motivation than fighting for herself.

Hours later, after she has gained the trust of the she-wolf, she watches the boys curled up in her arms, the light from the fire playing over their peaceful, sleeping features. They are holding onto each other, almost protectively, almost like they know what dangers are to come as well. She kisses the little one’s head, inspiring the warmth of his thin baby hair, and thinks about Tartessos, about how she couldn’t do anything to help him and, if she’s being honest, never really tried. Too lost in her youth and helpless in front of the unknown.

She decides then that, no matter what happens, when a millennia later these boys will be digging up the remains of her dead legacy, they are going to remember a brave and loving mother, that stood like a shield and gave her life for them.

Only the she-wolf and the frozen lake bear witness to her wow.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> And that’s it!! This is not my most preferred headcanon for aph Spain’s origin , but it’s close and the one that fit most here. I think I left the door a bit open for Lusitania, you can consider him Portugal or you can adhere to the headcanon I used in my story “[The labor of my love](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10431456)” where he is... not quite. xD 
> 
> Anyway, I think it’s kinda cool that Spain (España) carries the name that was given to his mom by Phoenicia almost 3.000 years ago! 
> 
> Please, kudo and comment if you liked ♥ You can also come to visit me over at tumblr, I’m [Salytierra](http://salytierra.tumblr.com) there.
> 
> * * *
> 
> ## References
> 
>   * Cadena SER. 2014. "Los Fenicios". Podcast. SER Historia. https://www.ivoox.com/sh-274-los-fenicios-27-7-2014-audios-mp3_rf_3358828_1.html.
> 

>   * Gracia, José Carlos. 2014. "12. De La Piedra Al Hierro". Podcast. Memorias De Un Tambor. https://www.ivoox.com/12-de-piedra-al-hierro-audios-mp3_rf_17939412_1.html.
> 

>   * Gracia, José Carlos. 2016. "35. Hispania Romana". Podcast. Memorias De Un Tambor. https://www.ivoox.com/35-hispania-romana-audios-mp3_rf_16667316_1.html.
> 

>   * López-Davalillo Larrea, Julio. 2000. Atlas Histórico De España Y Portugal. Madrid: Editorial Sintesis.
> 

>   * Marías, Julián. 2014. España Inteligible: Razón Histórica De Las Españas. Madrid: Alianza Ed.
> 

>   * Marina N. 2016. "The Celts, Iberians And Celtiberians In Hispania". Thinglink.Com. https://www.thinglink.com/scene/781522842259816448.
> 

>   * Saraiva, José Hermano, José Luis Ceunca, and Pedro Manuel Madera. 1989. Historia De Portugal. Madrid: Alianza.  
> 
> 



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